


Ever Yours.

by amordantia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Hurt Sherlock, M/M, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amordantia/pseuds/amordantia
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is  many things. A detective, an Englishman, a sociopath...But never once had he claimed to be a soulmate.Now he sits in the aftermath of choices, choices he yearns to take back.As we all know, however, choices don't quite work that way.





	Ever Yours.

**Author's Note:**

> So in the notes on a recent HP fanfiction I began on here, I mentioned I had plans for a Sherlock fic. Here it is. Er, well, here's a drabble, anyway. 
> 
> I may release a fully fledged AU of a Johnlock fic sometime soon, it's just a matter of finding time.
> 
> Anyhow, I suppose I'm testing the waters for this one as a first time Johnlock writer.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Also, don't be afraid to send me some Johnlock (or other) requests on my Tumblr dan-kitty!
> 
> Enjoy!

He withdrew a breath.

It ached.

He tried to control his breathing, but found himself in a room he didn’t wish to be in all too soon.

It was the flat.

 _Their_  flat.

He knew who waited behind him, sitting on that chair. He knew, yet he had no desire to turn around.

He took another breath.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

When he spoke, it was as though someone else had spoken. The voice, the words, seemed worlds away. He continued despite this,“With you. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t see you. Shouldn’t touch you. But..”

He stopped himself. How much was he willing to give away? How much would the truth cost him? How much would it hurt?

He shut his eyes tight, foolishly wishing the action would destroy reality or disrupt his view of it. “I know you don’t care. You don’t look at me with eyes filled with concern anymore. And..” He swallowed, unable to stop speaking now that he had started. “And a part of me feels like you used my heart like a mere  _plaything_ ,” he inwardly chuckled bitterly as the one waiting in the chair was often fond of similes,“and the other part of me  _knows_  I gave you my heart willingly.”

He still refused to turn around.

“Yet here I am, talking to you as if you even care. As if you care about me, now, in this moment or in any other. You don’t. You don’t even  _look_  at me properly. You don’t even  _talk_  to me, but why would you want to?”

He felt his eyes fill with tears and felt a rush of relief at not having turned around.

After a few moments of silence, he began a path to the door of his flat. His voice raw with emotion, he continued speaking,“It’s like..there’s a hole. A big, gaping whole in my chest that  _aches_  every time I see you. I can’t get rid of it and sometimes the pain hurts so much that I want to claw at my chest.”

His voice was trembling. He made no effort to keep it steady. “I..I don’t know if I let go of the ledge or if I’m simply falling or I’ve hit the bottom. Maybe I  _am_  falling. Maybe I’ll continue to fall for the rest of my life.” Though using such imagery was far beyond him, he found little reasoning for his words in such a moment.

“But you don’t care. There..there will never..this will never.. be  _okay_.”

His voice broke on the last word, his world crumbling down with it. His shaking hand, outstretched for the doorknob, now found itself crumpling a handful of his blue dress robe. He asbentmindedly felt himself sink down, his weight supported by the door. He vaguely felt the tears fall from his lashes, startled from the sound of broken sobs that reached his ears only to discover they were his own.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement and curled further in on himself. He said too much. He revealed too much. “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” he croaked, wondering why he couldn’t stop talking,“I don’t know if I love you, if I’m in love with you, if I hate you, if I like you.. I don’t..” He whispered, _“I don’t know.”_

More sobs racked his body and words spilled from his lips.

“I just feel so small and broken.”

His red rimmed eyes finally glanced up, seeing the very person he had dreaded laying eyes upon. He looked as beautiful as ever. His short hair glistened like gold in the sunlight filtering in through the curtains. His eyebrows, smoothed in sleep, were now creased in worry. And his eyes were as striking as ever. Though purple dipped under them from lack of sleep and stress, the many shades of blue in the irises danced in such a breath taking way.

He felt himself letting out more sobs and buried his face in his arms, wishing the pain in his chest would stop. He cursed such fickle things as hearts and an even more fickle thing as love, before glaring up at the beautiful and kind man before him.

“You’re not even  _here_ ,” his voice was thick from crying,“You’re  _not_. You don’t  _care_. You  _left_ , John. You’re  _gone_.”

He turned away, shoving his emotions down. He was already beginning to feel dullness wash over him like rain. He would be better when he didn’t feel. He would be better when he could pretend as though his emotions didn’t exist. He buried his face in his arms once more, looking away from John.

“ _Why_  are you here?” He asked him. “Why do you occupy my mind? I spend  _every_  moment thinking of you. I’m  _always_ thinking of you.  _Just_   _leave_.” The last sentence was bit out as though he had tasted something foul.

When he still sensed the man’s presence, he growled, _“Get out of my head.”_

He didn’t bother looking up, already realizing John had vanished.

Sherlock was alone once more and the heavy weight in his chest was still present.

He wondered if he would ever feel the same again.


End file.
